


Butterfly

by ShyTortise



Category: Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: Creepy Pitch, Gen, mentions of sexual abuse, possible trigger
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-19
Updated: 2013-04-19
Packaged: 2017-12-08 21:44:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/766369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShyTortise/pseuds/ShyTortise
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There is only ONE Boogeyman, Pitch does not tolerate pale imitations.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Butterfly

**Author's Note:**

> Because they both dream of butterflies.

He is losing himself.

Fading in the apathy and nervous tension of the current age.

The belief is sweet taste on his lips, a heady rush of strength and he pulls himself out of the darkness to see just what kind of child still believes so ferociously in the boogey man.

She, and he knows it’s a she; he knows even though the walls of the room are covered in the obnoxious cheerful yellow that reminds him far too much of Sanderson; is huddled under her blankets trying ever so terribly hard to be quiet, hoping that tonight the boogey man won’t find her.

Pitch frowns.

He’s never been here, not personally.

It’s taken him a moment to notice that the door to the room has opened, there is no light in the hall to guide her and so none to alert him.

The figure is large and he allows himself a moment to be impressed at how quietly such a large man can move…but who is he and why does the child, now holding her breath, think HE is Pitch?

Suddenly he is swamped by terrified belief as the floor creaks ever so slightly.

 And her fear is sweaty hands where they shouldn’t be and a scratchy face and mouth that tells lies. They say that the boogey man is her friend but she doesn’t like it, and he never stops when she tells, asks, begs…

Gold eyes bleed into silver as he realizes what this child fears, it is not him, it is an imposter.

The shadows of the room react to his anger, thickening, climbing the walls in choking vines until even the Man in the Moon has been shut out.

He doesn’t remember moving, but his fingers are around the human’s throat, squeezing. Outside of this room such a feat would have been impossible, but the child believes, and the noises the man makes only fuel that faith.

Nightmares are too gentle for this, their fear and exhilaration does not belong here. So grievous a sin calls for terrors he hasn’t unleashed in decades.

The horrors come slowly, dredging themselves from the depths of his lair. He occupies himself by delving into the imposter’s mind. A few twitches of power and it is ready.

“Who the hell are you? What’re you doing in my house?” Pitch grins.

“I’m afraid you are very much mistaken. YOU are in MY home.” The shadows below him writhe in agony as the first horror claws its way onto the stone. “And I take a very dim view of trespassers.” His opinion of the man, already low, sinks even further as he begins screaming before the creatures even touch him. Pitch sighs and watches the human’s skin melt away, his bones crisping and breaking, the screams crescendo into a squeal that makes the chains hum before the first horror is satisfied, oozing off the stone and back into the abyss. The man stands before the Nightmare King unharmed, but the second horror is just as hungry and soon enough the chamber is once more assaulted by the shrieks and sobbing of the imposter.

Back in the mortal realm Pitch’s fingers close inexorably, cutting off the human’s breath. He gurgles and thrashes under the ministrations of Pitch’s beautiful beasts, but the immortal is not bothered.

 In this place, at this time, he is the only power.

As the man dies a thousand deaths in his head, his body dies once. Pitch drops the carcass onto the carpet and turns to the shivering lump under the covers.

He doesn’t understand what moves him, only that now the threat is passed the girl need not fear her fake boogey man. He touches the blanket and raises an eyebrow as the child wets herself, if he is so terrifying without effort why are true believers so hard to come by? But the thought is idle and floats away.

Instinctively his fingers dig in his coat, long fingers closing around the broken locket he can’t seem to bring himself to be rid of.

“Come child, time for you to know the face of your fear.” He doesn’t expect the wide green eyes or the mess of blonde hair that pops up at the unfamiliar voice. They tug something painful in him and the shadows blocking the light contract until the silver busybody is shining bright enough to illuminate the mess he’s left on her floor.

“She’s not supposed to see that, you crooked old coin.” He pulls the broken accessory out as he grabs the girl’s chin gently, focusing her eyes on the delicate lines of the locket, curling shadows around it to form the most comforting shape he can imagine.

The golden butterfly swings back and forth before her eyes as he draws the fear out of her, feasts on it until he is glutted and she drops into exhausted slumber.

But what to do with the body? Oh his horrors can feast for days on good mortal flesh, but this…pustule of humanity has other ties. As much as it pains him, he needs assistance.

The blanket burns his hand as he touches it, chastising him for breaking the rules. He hisses and stalks to the window, flinging it open.

“Sanderso-“ He flinches back as he realizes he’s nose to nose with the Guardian already, golden eyes glaring at him suspiciously. The Sandman slides through the window and explodes into symbols when he sees the mess.

Pitch crosses his arms. “He was pretending to be me.” He doesn’t have to explain himself, least of all to Mansnoozie. The images flash one right after the other too quick for amateurs like the others to follow. Pitch growls.

“I KNOW he was her father, why else do you think I DID it you stupid son of a sandbox?!”

There is a moment of utter stillness and then those golden eyes are very dark as Sandy looks at the body, then back to Pitch. People sometimes forget that not all dreams are pleasant ones. The taller immortal shrugs.

“I can only take the fear, I can’t erase the knowledge.” He rolls his eyes as a small yellow hand waves him into the corner, practically jamming himself into it as the enchanted sand explodes through the room, out into the street, the hall…by morning everyone who knew the man will think him just a dream, some stranger they saw in the background.

He is growing weaker, the child has no one to fear, and one good meal does not stave off starvation. His horrors envelope the body, spiriting it away to his lair as Pitch moves towards the closet. He frowns at the tug on his coat, turning around to find Sanderson giving him a soft approving smile. For a moment he can almost forget the last time they fought, he can pretend they still watched the Old Man sink below the horizon together. But there is no place for him now, not in the Guardians.

“I didn’t do it for you.” He yanks away and melts into the shadows.

He will make himself a place; he will carve a niche for himself from their precious world if he has to.

The locket weighs heavy against his chest as he retreats to his lair to think, and plan.


End file.
